


Car Chase

by Measured_Words



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cars, Case Fic, Friendship, Gen, Theft, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Fisher has asked Bert and Cec to run an errand involving her 1928 Hispano-Suiza.  Nothing could possibly go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allyndra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/gifts).



> Thanks to Nary for cheerleading and ecotherm for the beta! Any remaining errors are my own. Happy yuletide, I hope you enjoy this silly treat :D

It was a fine spring day in Melbourne when the cab pulled up to the grand, white house in St Kilda at 221B, The Esplanade. It was a familiar sight to locals, and not one to raise much interest even given that the home's owner – Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective – was out of town visiting friends, or possibly investigating a murder, and most likely both. Two men sauntered from the cab to the house and were admitted within, and greeted with a warm but proper welcome from Miss Fisher's indispensable household overseer, Mr. Butler.

"Good day, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Yates! I've laid out a bit of lunch for you, but I have some instructions for you from Miss Fisher."

Something of a gleam in Butler's eye gave the men pause, and they shared a suspicious look before Mr. Johnson – Bert – piped up.

"Instructions is it? She'd not even in town."

"Indeed. I think you'll like though."

Bert grumbled as he pulled up a chair, not one to turn down anything prepared by Mr. Butler just because there are some extra strings attached. They'd been well under Miss Fisher's thumb for a while now, and any protest at this point was purely token. "Well, let's hear it then."

"Miss Fisher has promised the lend of her car to a friend, but due to circumstances, she needs to have it delivered."

Both men raised eyebrows, sharing another, entirely different, look.

"She wants us to take the Hispano out?"

"Hispano-Suiza," Mr. Butler corrected, his tone gently admonishing. "And she gave very specific instructions. You're to drive it to the Rendezvous Hotel, and leave the keys for Miss Eliza Bartlett, room 372."

"Right," said Bert.

"Flip a coin?" said Cec.

"Very sporting," said Mr. Butler. "But how about after lunch?"

A short while later, the pair exited the house again, Cec returning somewhat disappointed to the cab, while Bert, with more spring in his step, headed to the garage with the keys provided by Mr. Butler.

Cec did manage to get underway before his compatriot, but though the cab was top of the line, it was no match for Miss Fisher's fancy French hot rod. Especially not when Bert had been keen to test out the engine's capabilities for himself for some time. The only reason that Bert wasn't ready and waiting outside the rendezvous, errand complete, was the traffic. As it was, he did spot the car parked outside and pulled up nearby. He imagined it wouldn't be long before Bert returned to tell him in great and gloating detail all about his short adventure in the driver's seat.

The bout of wistfulness left him well-placed to observe what happened next: A blonde woman with a green scarf covering her hair, accompanied by a tall man in a grey suit, approached the Hispano-Suiza. The woman opened the driver's door, slipping in, while the man kept watch from the sidewalk beside her. It did not take Cec long to realize that she could not be Miss Bartlett, as they had not approached from the hotel, never mind that even if she'd happened to run into Bert inside, he would surely have accompanied her back out to the vehicle. Something was amiss. Cec hopped down from the cab and strode towards the trouble.

He hoped that the pair would be deterred easily – he wasn't keen on getting into a brawl in front of a fancy hotel in the middle of the day, and definitely not with such a tough looking character as the man standing guard. He thought he could hold his own long enough if it came to that, and Bert would be along any moment to provide any necessary backup.

"Hey!" he called out, bracing himself for a fight as the man turned to glower at him. He looked even bigger up close, taller than Cec and built like a wall. The blonde in the car kept her face turned away as she went quickly about the business of breaking in to the car's ignition and forcing the engine to turn over. 

The giant took the first swing. Cec managed to twist mostly out of the way, landing a blow of his own along his opponents ribs, but it felt more like punching a sack of bricks. Once he'd been drawn in, it was harder to keep clear, and Cec was quickly doubled over from a mean sucker punch to the gut. The man wasted no time seizing his advantage, grabbing Cec by the neck and holding him while he delivered an equally vicious knee to the face. Over the ringing in his ears, Cec could make out the sound of running footfalls. They were not fast enough to prevent the grey-clad giant from vaulting over the side door and into the vehicle, which promptly peeled out into the street. 

Bert, swearing under his breath, helped Cec to his feet, providing a needed shoulder to lean on while he caught his breath and performed a quick inventory of injuries. His nose was tender but not, he thought, broken. The trade-off for this was going to be a wicked bruise and a ringing head, but he'd had worse. Bert waved off a few concerned bystanders and completed his own assessment, shaking his head.

"That big blighter sure worked a number on you," he muttered.

"I'm all right," he protested. "But they got off with the car."

Bert nodded. "You get a good look?"

"Not much at the woman – blonde, dark glasses. The giant though," Cec shook his head again, trying to shake off the hurt. "—him I'd know."

"Right." Bert frowned, then clapped him on the shoulder. "Better get on inside then."

"Inside?" 

"Well, best let this Bartlett bird know what up, so we don't get nicked for it"

And so the pair made past the stares of genteel guests and suspicious bellhops to room 372. When they knocked, the door opened a crack to allow the room's occupant to peek out, and a voice – familiar if misplaced – answered. As Bert replied, the door flew open to reveal the concerned face of Miss Dorothy Williams, who drew them immediately inside.

"Cec! Your face!" she cried. "Let me get you some ice for that, there's some in the bucket." She turned to do so, wrapping it in a napkin and passing it to him as he sat down, bewildered to see her. Bert, whose faculties had been a little less shaken up, took the time to make some observations and draw some conclusions.

"What're you doing here, Dot – I thought you were up to Bendigo with Miss Fisher?" He nodded to the empty champagne bottle sitting near the bucket of melting ice and a partnered pitcher of orange juice. "She here too? What's going on?"

Dot's eyes went wide, her brow furrowed slightly, and then she replied with absolute certainty. "No, it's just me."

The men shared a look. "Oh yeah?" said Bert.

"Oh yes. Miss Fisher wanted to arrange a. . . private assignation, which is why she said she was out of town, and then she left me here. By myself."

"So she meant to leave the car here with you so she could come pick it up?"

"Oh, mmmm, yes, the car. That's exactly right."

Once again, Bert and Cec shared a glance. Cec shrugged helplessly. Dot watched this with a slightly nervous expression that she immediately tried to cover when Bert looked back her way.

"Well, there's been a bit of a hitch in that plan. The car's been stolen."

Dot seemed to rally at that. "Oh, dear! Well we had better call the inspector don't you think?"

"Can't say that was my first thought – him being a friend of Miss Fisher's don't make him no friend of ours."

"Well, no, but Miss Fisher is unavailable—"

"I wouldn't be chomping at the bit to tell her either, not when it happened on our watch."

"Right, but don't you think the inspector would be the perfect person to look after her interests?"

Once again, something passed between the two friends that Dot was not quite able to interpret.

"I figure maybe that's our place, seein' as we're the ones who lost it."

"Oh, dear," said Dot.

"Come on, Cec," said Bert. "Maybe we can find out a thing or two about that big lug."

"He had the look of a wharfie – that'd be a place to start."

"Right, come on then."

Dot was now the one glancing between them. "So. . . you're not going to call the inspector?"

In the end she made the call herself, just a quick one, and dashed to join the two cabbies before they could head out to the wharves. The pair still had friends who worked on the docks, and Dot trailed around after them as they made their enquiries. Occasionally, she would interject a question of her own about a gang, or a factory. The interjections were odd enough that she couldn't pass them off as insights from the Catholic community, at least not to her companions, and not after the third or fourth time that they elicited exactly the information they needed to help narrow things down. When this became too much, they cornered her in the cab.

"Alright, Miss Williams – what are you playin' at here? What's the story?"

"Um," she said, then sighed and shook her head. "Miss Fisher is working a case. A man was murdered in relation to a series of car thefts, and she managed to make some connections by. . . going under cover. She thought she might need to convince the gang that she could pull her weight, so she wanted her car moved somewhere she could find it. . ."

"No bloody way!" Cec scowled, then winced immediately. "That was her – the blonde! She stole her own car!"

"I'm so sorry, Cec, she didn't think it would happen so soon. I know she wasn't planning on anyone getting hurt."

"Are you holding out on anything else?" Bert added, looking as displeased as he ever had been to be tangled up in the messes of the upper classes. "Do you know who that bloke was with her?"

Dot shook her head. "No – she just told me to let Inspector Robinson know as soon as the car was taken. Everything else I know has come out already – there is some connection between the thefts and the Blake gang working out of the west docks."

"Why didn't you just tell us, save all this running around?"

Dot pursed her lips, looking concerned. "Well, I am sorry – she asked me not to break her cover unless it was essential but I am very worried. It doesn't sound like things have been going according to plan at all." She shot Cec another sympathetic look. "And there is, after all, a murderer on the loose."

"So what I'm hearing is – you haven't a clue where Miss Fisher is, but she probably needs some help."

"Yes, precisely."

"And that's why you were so keen on calling the Inspector, hopin' he might race off an' pull her outta the mess."

"Yes. . . I only spoke to Hugh briefly and he was very confused, so I don't know what will come of it."

"Then we better see what we can find out from the Blakies."

With that, Bert started up the cab, heading for the club they'd heard the Blake gang tended to frequent. The cabbies had both heard of it before when they'd worked the docks themselves – a pretty rough joint all told, and not a place for a nice Catholic girl like Dot. Which was unfortunate, because there was no stopping her coming with them. It was hard to argue too hard, given her dedication to Miss Fisher and the peril their employer could be facing at the hands of possibly murderous ruffians. Fortunately, the rough look of fresh bruises gave Cec a rather rough look himself, and this combined with Bert's dour glares were sufficient to keep most of the low-lives from hassling the lady.

But only most. One man, wearing a dark coloured newscap and, more notably given their earlier enquiries, a green bowtie that indicated him as Cam Blake, gave her a depreciative leer.

"Afternoon, gents," he said, smirking up at the men, "Nice piece you've got there. Something I can help you lot with?"

"Yeah," Bert answered. "How 'bout a little respect for our friend here first." Dot grimaced nervously beside him. Cam Blake made a face that could have meant anything. Bert continued, knowing better that to push his luck in that regard. "We heard you might know a thing or two 'bout some flashy shook up cars."

Cam looked around at the men sitting with him, grinning. "That's a real interesting story, that is. Not one I can help you with, I'm afraid."

"Yeah?" Bert hoped this sounded as good out loud as it did when he was trying to come up with something in the cab. "One of them cars belonged to my friend here's employer, and she figures she can make it worth your while to cut some kinda deal."

"That's right," Dot added. "My employer is very rich, and very attached to h—his Hispano-Suiza."

"A Hispani-Suiza is it?" Cam's accent mangled the foreign terms. "Ain't too many of them 'round town."

"So you know the car we mean then," Dot pressed him. 

Cam made a dismissive gesture. "I know cars, don't mean I nicked any. You're barking up the wrong tree."

Bert didn't think they were going to accomplish much at all with this enquiry, until a door at the back of the club opened. Bert didn't see anyone, but Cec tensed, straightening up and setting his jaw, and that was enough for him. He shrugged, playing it cool. "Well I guess we'll take our tin elsewhere, and see what we can shake up."

"Pleasure, gents, missy." Cam noded after them.

All three were a little surprised to be allowed to leave the club, and none of them were ruling out the possibility of pursuit. But as soon as there were outside, Cec leaned in to whisper to the others.

"I saw 'im – the big blighter. He was in the back room."

"Then Miss Fisher could be back there as well!"

"Yeah, but he saw me too. I know you're keen to find her, Dot, but I wouldn't feel right putting you in that sort of trouble."

Dot smiled. "That's very sweet Cec, but I don't want any trouble. I just want to take a little peek." 

She pointed up – a small window into the back of the club would just be accessible by climbing up on the roof of the building next door. Bert gave a little shrug – if she was taking that much after her employer, there was no sense arguing the point.

Cec stayed down in the alley to keep look out. They hadn't seen anyone follow them out, which seemed suspicious, but there could still be trouble. No stranger to dockyard brawls, Cec had found and armed himself with a crowbar, in case things turned nasty, or he had a chance to go a second round with the giant who had flattened him earlier. Bert helped Dot get a leg up on the drainpipe – she wasn't quite as graceful, or as confident, as Miss Fisher, but she made up for it with determination. She shimmied up carefully, and crouched down to peer across the lane and into the small window. Bert stayed below, in case some kind of immediate action was needed.

A few moments later, Dot waved to him frantically, leaning down over the side of the building to whisper. "She is there - they have her tied to a chair! The big brute is arguing with Cam Blake about something, and I'm sure none of it is good."

Bert nodded, keeping an eye as she climbed carefully down, and gesturing for Cec to come join them so they could try and formulate a plan. There wasn't much to work with immediately to hand – the building had some larger windows lower down, and a door, but the room was too open for a subtle break in, and the Blakes had too many allies near to hand.

"We need a distraction," Dot suggested.

Bert nodded and eyed Cec. "You think they might be keepin' their goods nearby? I'd wanna keep an easy eye on 'em, if it were me."

Cec nodded slowly. There were several warehouses in the area… 

One of which did, in fact, turn out to contain a 1928 Hispano-Suiza, red with a white bonnet. The crowbar made short work of both the locks on the bay doors, and the man who had been supposed to be keeping watch. This time, it was Cec's turn to take the wheel, making sure to gun the engine as he peeled around the block. The others watched discreetly from an alley as Blake and the giant raced out. Whatever they had been arguing about seemed to get more heated for a moment, but Blake stormed off to the front of the club. The giant looked into the room, locked the door to the outside, and stormed off in the other direction.

Bert and Dot didn't waste any time in occupying the space he vacated, hurrying up to the door. Once again the crowbar proved its value, and the door was easily pried open.

Inside, Miss Phryne Fisher, recognizable with some scrutiny in a wig of blonde curls, was busy untying the bonds securing her feet to the chair, having already freed her hands. She looked up with a smile that was half relief, half bemusement.

"We've got to get out of here before Cam or Avery get back," she said, as the pair came over to offer their assistance.

"Nice to see you too, Miss."

"Cec has your car – that's how we got them to clear out," Dot added. "Hopefully he'll run right into the Inspector. They should be out looking for it."

"Yes," Phryne agreed. "And hopefully they won't give him any trouble. Come on."

Taking charge, Phryne led the other two quietly back out to the broken door. They hadn't quite been quick enough, though – the giant, Avery, was just pulling up in a sleek black and red Bugatti Type 46 that Bert recognized instantly from the warehouse they'd pilfered earlier. Avery threw open the door angrily and stepped out.

"I should have let Cam have his way," he hissed, reaching into his coat and drawing out a pistol.

Bert brandished his crowbar. Dot caught her breath, eyes wide, but stood her ground. Phryne straightened up and gave him a somewhat haughty look.

"Accessory to murder is not going to look much better for you than the full deal, Avery," she said. "I thought you were above such things."

"Shut up," he growled, looking around and trying to figure out what to do with the three people he now held at gunpoint. He didn't have to think for long – that roaring engine was back already, and from the passenger seat came someone prepared to even the odds: Inspector Jack Robinson.

"Drop the weapon," he said, his voice grave. "You're under arrest, for theft of. . . several. . . motor vehicles."

Avery looked like he might try and make a break for it, but between the gun, the crowbar, and Cec's determined glare as he slid out of the Hispano-Suiza's driver's seat, he reconsidered, instead tossing the gun to the ground.

"If you're looking for your murderer," Phryne put it, as Jack nodded to Bert and Cec, who happily manhandled Avery into the back of Miss Fisher's car, "You'll find him inside. I'd wait for backup, though – he has quite a lot of friendly company."

"We all know how dangerous that can be," Jack replied dryly. Phryne smirked.

They fortunately didn't have too long to wait. Hugh had been left with the Inspector's car to go for reinforcements, and Cec had told him exactly where to go. Blake was arrested for murder, and several of his companions were taken in on other minor charges. As the villains were taken away, only the mixed company of heroes lingered outside.

“Avery was the head of the crew responsible for stealing the cars – Cam took his cut for shipping  
them up to Sydney for resale," Miss Fisher explained. "Things got a little nasty when that gorgeous Bugatti was not as unoccupied as first imagined – you can fill in the rest yourselves, I expect."

"I still don't see why you had to be so secretive about it," Dot said. "Poor Cec's face is going to look like a raw steak when that bruising is finished coming up. We could have come to your aid much quicker without all that unnecessary dissembling."

"Well, maybe," Phryne conceded, but any contriteness transformed quickly into mischief. "But I'm not sure I can trust those two – they let my car get stolen!"


End file.
